Chuck vs the Crazy Night
by Arathorn73
Summary: This takes place immediately after 2.06. Was going to be a quick Charah piece but grew exponentially. Each chapter shows a different viewpoint of the progressing story. Angst/romance with Chuck/Sarah.
1. Sarah's Confession

Sarah couldn't take it anymore. She was fed up. She'd been acting like a "good girl" for so long, it was no longer an act. She always did what she was told. She always did what she was supposed to do. Join the CIA, protect the world, sleep with this mark, protect the Intersect, lie to this person, kill that person, change your name again, do this, be that. She was sick and tired of it. What about what she wanted? What about her thoughts and needs and desires? What about fun and a future and being able to relax? What about the person who was not a CIA agent, who was not confined to what some bureaucrat had decided was right? Why didn't she get a voice?

It was hardly the first time she'd harbored such thoughts – treasonous thoughts she knew they would be called by others. And, she admitted to herself, ones she had called treasonous in others more than once. But were they really? Or were they all, the whole lot of them, the whole CIA, being bound by some sense of honor or decorum or bravado, and they all struggled with inner demons?

Those earlier times, those crises of conscience, had passed quickly. The mission was so obviously important, so obviously right, that concerns about the person she was could be shoved back into its box, labeled as interesting and something to maybe deal with later. Or they came at times when the time to examine them simply didn't exist. It's quite impossible to be philosophical when bullets are whining around you, or you're working on hour 43 with no food nor sleep. But none of those were the case, now.

Now, the mission was stupid. Her assignment was stupid. And not only was it hurting her, it was hurting someone she … someone she …. Why couldn't she voice the thought, even in her own mind? She'd heard the word a million times – heard it professed to her, even. Once, the person expressing it may even have been telling the truth. But she'd never felt that way. Sure, she'd had good physical relationships in the past, but even then, the sex was more like exercise – a fun way to get sweaty with somebody else. It never meant more than that. Killing a previous sex partner was no more or less difficult than killing any other enemy. Taking a life just rarely hurt any more. Not much really felt, anymore, good or bad.

What she was craving wasn't sex. She knew she could get that. It was easy to get picked up. She could go to any bar in any town in America and leave with just about anyone she wanted. Leaving with just a body, just a sex partner, that would be child's play. But it wouldn't fill the hole inside her. It wouldn't erase the guilt. It wouldn't be doing what she really wanted to do. What she knew, deep down, was the right thing to do. She didn't want "just sex", she wanted to make …, wanted to have more than simple sex.

How had she stopped doing the right thing? When was it that she started doing the easy thing? Being the obedient agent, even when it was wrong? She couldn't remember. But it stopped tonight.

She stood up abruptly, removing the headphones. She was abandoning her post – it wasn't proper, it wasn't kosher, and it might put him into danger. But she knew what she had to do. And it wasn't something she could do over a phone. If she was going to torpedo her career and risk her life, she wanted to see his face when she did it. Even if he didn't understand what she was doing when she did it.

It all came back to him, didn't it. Protect the Intersect. Protect Chuck. Where did one end and the other begin? How could she be asked, told, demanded to protect the Intersect and told, in almost the same breath, to damage Chuck? Without him, there was no Intersect, no magic computer to recognize hidden details and complex patterns, was there? They didn't just need the Intersect, they needed Chuck.

Well, she needed him, anyway. Needed him unlike anything else she'd needed in a long time. It wasn't like a sleep after a hard day. It wasn't like food. It wasn't some itch she could ignore while maintaining complete physical control. It was an all-consuming wave. No matter how high she built the dams, no matter how carefully she patrolled for incursions, no matter how cold she tried to make herself, nothing mattered. Nothing helped. He was a constant presence – the image behind her eyes when she shut them, the focus of her tormented dreams, the lingering scent she had hunted down after he'd left – so many times he'd left and she'd hunted.

She'd tried to push him away. She'd been a tease, as much as she could. She'd worked every angle on both of them to not let this happen. She'd let him get so close that she, herself, intentionally letting it go "too far" had barely been able to muster the force of will necessary to stop them from going on. She'd seen the hurt in his eyes. She'd fostered it, intentionally, trying to prevent him from being so damn perfect. But he'd borne it. Borne it like a soldier, though she'd heard him crying himself to sleep, those nights when Casey couldn't cover the surveillances. She hated herself at those times. Hated how she was trying to drive a wedge between them.

But it hadn't. He hadn't let it. He'd always come back for more. Always believed her lame excuses about the job or who might be listening or lipstick or whatever she'd used. And he never stopped caring, really caring for her. She never remembered feeling so completely adored. And sometimes it wasn't a tease. The first kiss, when she'd thought they were going to die. What she thought was going to be the only kiss. How could she regret that? And with Roan ordering them to cooperate – she'd needed to fix more than her make-up after that kiss.

She hadn't even noticed the walk to the car. She was sitting behind the wheel. How long had she been there? It didn't matter. She had a job to do. Not a job for the government. Not a job she'd been ordered to do. A job for herself. Her one act of defiance and personal heroism. Her path to redemption for herself. She put her Porsche into gear and revved too much, too quickly, roaring out of the parking spot, and racing forward. She enjoyed the feel of the car under her. It made her feel dangerous.

And did she ever feel the danger tonight. It was a whole new kind of danger. She'd gotten almost immune to the adrenaline rush of combat, whether hand-to-hand or behind impersonal weapons. But this danger, this was new. This was present. This was fresh. This was real. And how important it was to be real. She was so rarely real. She hid herself, hid from herself. But that self was not to be denied tonight, whatever the eventual cost. Any danger, any concern was worth it.

She needed to seize the moment. Too many moments had been passed by, left to decay in the prospect of some moment in the future. No longer. Not now. Now, she was going to seize this moment of self-awareness, seize the chance to do what she hadn't let herself know that she'd wanted to do for months.

She was going to be honest. She was going to tell him … tell him everything. Tell him about the CIA plans. Tell him about herself. Lay it all out there for him. Then she would … then she would … Well, hell with then. She'd always worried about 'then'. Then then then. NOW was on her mind. Now was what she was all about. Then could take care of itself then. She was going to take care of now. And take care of herself now.

"SHIT!" She swore out loud. Not NOW! Why, of all the times, now? She glanced down at the speedometer. 97? How the hell had she let that happen? She normally didn't have to pay any attention to be legal – speeding records were a way to be tracked. She was so meticulous. But not tonight, she realized. Tonight, she wasn't herself. Or, maybe, she was herself, for the first time in a long time. That feeling was so unusual, everything was off.

She looked in the mirror again. Yeah, those lights were definitely behind her. She could outrun it, she knew. The plates rotated easily and the numbers weren't registered anywhere with anything. It would be so easy to just disappear into the night. No city cop could keep up with her.

But it would distract her from her purpose. If she was going to become real, going to become the person she didn't know, herself, she was going to start now. She was going to pay the consequences of her actions, like normal people did. Her foot eased off the accelerator and she looked for a place to pull off the road. The delay was inexcusable, but any other action was worse.

The police car came up right behind, quelling any potential doubt as to his target. He flipped the siren on briefly, to drive home the point.

"I know, I know," Sarah muttered out loud – mad at herself, mad at the policeman, mad at the situations her life kept thrusting her into, mad she hadn't taken control earlier. And still adrenaline filled her veins, keeping her skin crawling, like an outfit that she'd worn just too long.

Some small part of her brain had catalogued the road ahead and she knew exactly where she was going to stop. It was the safest place for both her and the officer. It wasn't really his fault, she knew. He was just doing his job. Like she had so often done her job. And probably hurt others, just like he was now hurting her. The wait, every second, every millisecond, was excruciating. She could feel her resolve crumbling out from under her. If she didn't talk to him, tell him soon, she might never have the chance. No, she might never take the chance, take the risk, again.

The policeman … no, police woman – how did she miss that? Sarah trembled. She really was not feeling like herself tonight. And then she corrected herself again. No, she was feeling more like herself than she had in forever.

"In a hurry?" The policewoman's voice pierced into Sarah. It wasn't his voice. That was the only voice she wanted to hear.

"Yes, I am." She saw no sense in lying. It wouldn't make any difference.

"Worth risking your life over?" Now, there was a question she'd answered. She was risking everything. She was risking more than her life on tonight. She planned to put herself out there. Death would be much easier to take than this.

"Honestly? Yeah, I think it is." Sarah was surprised to hear her voice say those things. She didn't normally go on like that. She couldn't help herself. She mentally reviewed all the food and drink she'd had in the last 24 hours, wondering what might have held a drug or anything abnormal. She catalogued her body's feelings and reactions. The latter were definitely atypical, but she wasn't feeling normal. She couldn't trace it to any possible drug, though.

She realized the police officer was just standing there, looking down at her. Sarah just started ahead. That's where he was. Where he was waiting for her. Or not waiting. But that's where he was. That's all that mattered. He was there. So she was going to get there. It was that simple.

Still the officer stood there. Sarah turned her head every so slightly. "Please, can we get on with this? I just want to go. Now." She heard a whine and a desperation in her voice that she wasn't familiar with. More new stuff. It was coming so fast. And it felt so good to just be herself. Not CIA agent Sarah Walker. Just who she was, regardless of the name attached. Just be her.

The officer squatted down and talked to her on her level. "Are you sure he's worth it?"

Sarah sniffled in surprise. "How'd …." It probably was that obvious, yes. What else could it be? Her shoulders sagged. She could feel herself deflate – she was probably in more trouble than she realized. "Yes, he is. And I've wasted it."

Why was she pouring out her heart to some stranger on the road? Was she really that desperate to be understood? To be validated? Or was it something else? Why did she need to say that she'd wasted it? Wasted their time. Wasted his affection. Waited too long. Hid behind a job. Hid behind a mask she knew how to wear. Ignored his feelings. Hell, ignored her feelings. She didn't want to ignore them anymore. It was just too hard.

The officer looked at her gently. "Will you promise to drive more slowly?"

"I can promise to try. I didn't realize I was driving this fast, before." If I had, though, would I have slowed down? Or sped up? Come on, just give me the ticket. It's only money. 97 isn't fast enough to get taken in, is it? What would I do then? It'd be so easy to take out the officer, but Sarah didn't want to run forever. Cops are so protective of their own.

The officer said something. But it didn't register with Sarah. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

The officer smiled. "I said, you seem like an honest person. I'm going to let you go with a verbal warning and a stern command to slow down."

Honest? Her? Sarah? The secret agent who was just now going to tell the man she … the man she … the man she wanted to be with, how she felt? To finally tell him the truth about something? The irony made her smile in spite of herself.

"Oh, thank you. I'll do my best." She again surprised herself. Obsequious? Her? What was going on? Was she sure she wanted to go through with this? Maybe she should just sit on the side of the road and think. Or go back to the office and do her job and let her mind wander.

No! she mentally yelled at herself. Too much thinking was the enemy. She was feeling. Thinking led to following orders and folding herself back into a mold she no longer wanted to fit. Thinking wasn't good. She could think later. Now, she wanted to feel. She wanted to feel him against her. Wanted to hear him tell her that he … that he felt the same way about her that she did about him.

Not that she had any doubts. Well, not any real ones. The way he looked at her. The way he kept doggedly turning aside her efforts to divert him. Those couldn't be lies, could they? But the way he had kissed that Jill woman – that woman who had hurt him so deeply. Maybe he no longer cared for her. Maybe he never did. Maybe she was just being stupid.

Oh well. If she was being stupid, she was being stupid. She felt freer than she could ever remember. Only a few more minutes and she would tell him. Tell him all about the plan to use Jill as bait. Tell him how she felt, how stupid she'd been. Tell him how much she wished him happiness.

The apartment complex was coming up. Suddenly, she was nervous. What if she was wrong about how he felt? What if she just made a fool of herself? What good could this possibly do? Was a moment of insanity (or was it a moment of sanity?) worth all she'd built up? How would he react? What would he say?

It was too late to change her mind. She was out of the car and on her way to the apartment. She was committed – or about to be committed, she couldn't tell. But she had to tell him – had to tell him. Tell him everything.

Ellie opened the door – honest, trusting, real Ellie. Maybe that could have been Sarah, in another universe. Intelligent, beautiful, competent, and real. Honest. True. Genuine. Authentic. Sincere. Words that never really seemed to apply to her. But they would, she vowed. They would, tonight, at least.

"I need to talk to Chuck." The surprise and disappointment on Ellie's face was visible. She was confused, and a little terrified.

"I thought you were already here. He said you were coming in the Morgan door…. Who's in there?" Ellie knew the answer, already, of course. The shock and pain of it was visible on her face. She didn't need to tap phones to know the truth. She just needed to really know a person. Like Sarah wished he could – would – know her.

"Please, just let me talk to him." Sarah was desperate. She didn't want to hurt Ellie, but nothing was going to stand between her and her destiny. Not tonight.

"Of course." Ellie moved aside quickly. "If there's anything I can do …. You know I'm rooting for you, right?"

Ellie had always been so supportive, so graceful, so awesome. Sarah would certainly not mind having her for a sister-in-law… First things first, she silently reminded herself. Throwing an appreciative smile at Chuck's sister, Sarah moved purposefully to the door.

Resisting the urge to just throw it open, she knocked. "Chuck, it's me. I need to talk to you."

A muttered "Oh, no. Not now…" was barely audible through the door, but the mere sound of his voice sent a thrill coursing through her body. It started at the base of her spine and ran up to her neck, around to her face. It coursed back down her arms and legs, and settled in her fingers and toes, starting them tingling, like they'd been asleep. She'd never felt as alive as she did at that moment.

The door opened and there he was. His hair was mussed. He was a little out of breath and flushed. She recognized the signs. She'd interrupted a make-out session. Hardly an ideal time to confess her …, her …, her feelings for him. Too bad. The universe was going to have to wait. She was on a mission.

"Chuck, I need to tell you some things. A bunch of things. This is really important. And I don't care if Jill hears." The words came rushing out. She normally evaluated every word she said before it reached her mouth – testing it for probable reaction, for compromises to her cover, for so many things that used to seem so important. Now, the words couldn't get out fast enough.

"O … ummm … are you sure …" Seeing the look on her face, he exhaled fully. "OK."

Sarah stepped into the room, carefully avoiding Jill's questioning eyes and disheveled appearance. This was about him – about him and her, not about anybody else. Mostly, it was about Sarah, though. It was about her, and she reveled in that feeling.

"Chuck, I can't take it any more. I can't take the lies. The loneliness. The pain. Here's the thing. Beckman ordered Casey and me to … well, to use Jill as bait for Fulcrum. And explicitly to not tell you. But I'm tired of lying to you. I'm not going to do it anymore." She studied Chuck's face, waiting for the reaction. Jill might as well have not been there. She could feel the very air between them crackling. She wondered – hoped – prayed – that he felt it too.

"Since I'm going to be reassigned, or … or fired, for telling you that, there are a million other things I need to tell you." She was going to do it. She could feel it. It felt like winning a marathon, a triathlon, an endurance course of huge magnitude. But it was coming to a close. She was going to do it. "Chuck," she said, losing herself in the luminescent brown of his eyes, "I love you. I have loved you for a long time. I've tried to fight it, tried to hide from it, tried to make it go away. I can't. It's too strong. It's too real – real like nothing has been real to me for as long as I can remember."

She felt hot wetness on her cheeks. When had she decided to cry? Tears were a ploy, an act, a way to control others' thoughts and emotions. Tears weren't part of the plan. Where had they come from? Brushing aside the thought, she continued, "I just can't do this anymore. Pretend that I am who I'm not. Pretend that I'm OK being just a friend." The words continued to rush out, but she didn't know where she was going. And the words were taking the fire and heat out of her. Each word drained her more than she imagined possible.

"I love you Chuck. I want you to be happy. I want you to be happy with me, but…" But what? What the hell was she doing? Stop it. Don't let the words out. But she couldn't stop. Not now. Her heart had finally taken control and it wasn't about to relinquish it so quickly. "But I know this is probably good-bye" she finished sadly. "There's no way the CIA will let me keep working here now. I probably couldn't protect you the way I should anyway. I just love you too much. But I had to tell you. Had to tell you before anything happened. Had to let you know."

She blinked away the tears that continued to form, trying to focus on his face. It wasn't what she'd hoped for. There was no immediate professing of his love. No impassioned kiss. No plea to stay. Nothing quick enough for her to see as returning her outpouring of love. The heat continued to escape her body and mind and soul. "I know I'm probably too late. It's too late for us. Jill gives you the normalcy you wanted. Don't let her be bait. And, when you think back on me, don't … don't hate me!"

She couldn't see at all anymore. She fled out of the room back to her Porsche. Her ears were as full as her eyes, so she didn't hear anything behind her. How could she have been so stupid? And why was she so cold and empty? What had happened? Why did she let herself do that? She angrily put the car in gear and pulled away, the lights of other cars still blurred almost beyond recognition.


	2. Casey's Confusion

Casey was surprised to hear the knock at his door. He knew who it had to be. It had to be Chuck. But why was Chuck coming here? Why wasn't he on his way to Agent Walker's – to get in every second of screwing he could before she got shipped off? Didn't he know by now that her coming over there that night, what she'd said, that marked her as damaged goods. If she was lucky, she'd just get pulled off Chuck's case and sent to a psychologist for a while. She was good enough that she might be that lucky.

Casey wasn't sure what had brought him home early that night. It was one of his rare nights off, one of the rare nights he didn't have to listen to Chuck go on and on about sandwiches or listen to him playing some mindless, stupid video game that was obviously designed by somebody who'd never seen anything resembling real combat. He should have been off celebrating being alive, finding a fling, anywhere but at home. Some instinct had told him, though, that Walker wasn't right and he needed to listen, too. His instincts were usually right. They had proven that again tonight.

"Didn't expect to see you here." he said, as he opened the door. The scanning system had indicated no weapons, of course. He still checked. He was still a professional, even if Agent Walker had screwed up. He didn't relish the thought of breaking in a new member of Team Bartowski, but he wondered if he might start getting intel direct, instead of always hearing about it second-hand. He still sometimes felt like Team Chuck's little fat kid. It didn't bother him as much as it used to, but the thought of being third in a three-man team wasn't exactly pleasant. Then again, he'd never worked on a team like this before.

"Casey," the words didn't sound exactly like Chuck. It was more like the Agent Carmichael personae that Chuck was learning to wear. "I need your help."

Casey rolled his eyes. "Kiss, fondle, follow your prick. It's not that hard." Sheesh. Casey had always assumed that Chuck had at least lost his virginity at Stanford, if not before. And why would he come to Casey for advice? Casey had had his share of adventures, but he was hardly the world's leading expert. From the surveillance tapes, he had the motions down pat – though practicing solo wasn't exactly Casey's preferred _modus operandi_. Not that anybody would need help with Walker. She was a legend – more like a myth – in certain circles. He didn't believe all the stories, of course, but he'd heard enough to wonder if there was a grain of truth to them.

Chuck's eyes flickered with annoyance, but he didn't rise to Casey's bait, as he used to always do. Casey wondered if he was losing his touch. Or if Chuck were just finally growing up.

"Not with that. I need to talk to General Beckman. Now."

It was a voice of command that Casey hadn't really heard before. Chuck had just put his foot down to Casey the day before. And now he was ordering him around? That was not kosher.

"Not happening, loverboy. Besides, I've already filed my report." Casey softened just a bit. "So, go. Grab the time you've got."

"It is happening, or you will have to explain to her why the Intersect agent was killed, probably by his own hand. I'm not fooling around with this, Casey. I need to talk to her." Chuck's tone of voice was still firm, level, but there was a wildness to it, a mania behind it that got Casey's attention.

"I could just tranq you right now." Casey wasn't prone to idle threats. He'd loaded the tranquilizer gun earlier. With Walker and Roberts both near Chuck, and Walker acting so erratically, he'd judged it necessary. The gun was in easy reach.

"Probably, but you can't keep me under forever. Eventually, I'll be myself for a while. And then the government will be short one super-computer", Chuck replied, pointing to his head. His voice barely wavered. He was deadly serious – a kind of focused determination Casey had always suspected the man was capable of, but one that he had never seen.

"OK, but you're taking the blame for this."

"Casey," Chuck said, sounding a bit relieved, but still determined, "you have no idea."

Casey hit a few buttons, wondering if his superior would even be in. She seemed to basically live in the office, checking in with him at all kinds of odd hours of the day and night. But he had failed to reach her before. The TV turned on, showing a view of Beckman's office. She was there, looking as kempt as ever, despite the hour.

"Casey," she said, "what is it? I've already read your report and agree with your conclusion about replacing Agent Walker immediately."

Chuck stepped into the camera's view. "That's what it's about. If you replace Sarah, you may as well cancel all activities in this area. I will refuse to cooperate and will attempt suicide at every chance I'm given." Both Casey and Beckman blanched at that. "I know I may not succeed, but your ability to get usable intelligence from the Intersect will be minimized." The word 'Intersect' is laden with as much bile and disgust as Chuck can muster, which was a surprisingly large amount, given his general disposition.

"You would put yourself ahead of millions of people?" Casey let the words slip from his mouth. He could have kept them in, but they would score for him with General Beckman. Plus, they echoed his real thoughts. Such opportunities were rare. He wasn't going to let this one pass him by.

"I would. I've been pushed around and bullied long enough. I know what I want, what I need, and I'm ... I'm not going to let anything stand in the way. Not any longer." Chuck's bluster was starting to run thin, but he was clearly very committed to his course of action.

Surprisingly, Beckman defrosted a little at his words. "Chuck, think of the danger for the two of you. Is it really worth risking both your lives?"

Chuck chuckled. He chuckled! Casey couldn't believe it. The guy who normally screamed like a girl when facing even the slightest danger was now laughing in the face of death. What the hell was going on with the world tonight? It was awfully topsy-turvy. Chuck spoke. "General, life without Sarah is not worth living. I think I've made that clear. If events conspire and one of us dies ..." Chuck swallowed at the thought but he rallied gamely. "Well, I doubt just one of us would die that day."

Casey couldn't believe the expression he was seeing on Beckman's face. Was she really considering letting this madness continue? Casey groped for something solid, something that hadn't gone loco in the world. His eyes settled on the picture of Ronald Reagan, a man who knew how to run a country, build a government, shoot a gun, a man to be admired. But, almost against his will, he thought of Nancy and the love the two of them had shared. For an instant, he wondered if that kind of passion could make a man stronger. But only for a moment. He knew better.

But he held his peace. No sense sticking his nose in against his superior. As long as he kept his head, he could stay safe. And he could keep moving up the ladder. If Beckman started showing weaknesses, all the better for his future. No, staying quiet was the smart play here. Casey had made a career of smart plays.

"Chuck," Beckman spoke, after a long pause. "I don't like being threatened. I've never liked bullies. But you have me over a barrel. Agent Walker will stay in LA. But we will be assigning a new agent, one less prone to emotional failings, to your case. Agent Walker is benched indefinitely."

Chuck looked straight into the camera. "You're wrong, General." he said. Casey couldn't believe his ears. Directly defying a superior officer, when you'd already gotten your way? Then again, in a strange way, it made sense. It was nonsensical, so it fit the evening quite well. Chuck continued, "Emotions aren't failings. Hiding emotions is. And I'm not hiding mine any longer."

He rushed out the door, leaving Beckman to look at Casey. "Has the world gone mad?" she asked.

Casey grunted – he thought it was in agreement. "It sure has here, ma'am. Sorry for the interruption, but he insisted. And, as you heard, he can be quite persuasive. Good night."

Beckman replied "Good night. Oh, and major? Be sure to keep them in line and safe. Beckman out." The screen went black and Casey was left to ponder a world he thought he'd understood, but which was now standing on its head. What did "in line" even mean anymore?

* * *

_Note: The author's sentiments do not necessarily match those of Casey. Particularly in regard to the strength of passion and love._


	3. Chuck's Passion

_Author note: This chapter rather got away from me. The rating had to change from T to M. Only read on if you are mature enough to handle it. This is your only real warning. Read on or exit out. Either way, enjoy. _

* * *

Chuck was giddy. Yes, giddy was the right word, he decided. Sarah had come over. And, like always, she'd thrown a wrench into things. Ah, but what a wrench it was. Instead of crushing him, as she often did, or interrupting something with a national emergency, she came to him, to Chuck, not the Intersect. To tell him what he'd barely dreamed was really true. She loved him.

He loved her, of course. He'd been pretty deeply in love after the first date. And by the time Lou had come along, he'd pretty well resolved himself to always loving her. Always wanting to be with her. But never being able to. Then Sarah had kissed him. Kissed him in a way that left no doubt she meant it. Kissed him good-bye. But they hadn't blown up.

His world had blown up, though. Bryce came back. Bryce, whom he still couldn't bring himself to really hate. Still, Bryce had ruined everything. For a while, anyway. Then, the date and breaking up again. It was almost too much. When Jill came back, she seemed so hollow, so shallow, so boring, compared to Sarah.

He didn't even really care about Jill that much any more. Just … he was so damn horny. His regular masturbation had been ruined by the presence of bugs (and cameras, probably) in his room. It was hard enough with his sister and boyfriend (fiancé, he corrected himself) in the next room. But he'd gotten good at being discrete. Not discrete enough to hide it from Casey, though. And Casey always ribbed him about it the following morning.

With Jill, at least, the teasing would have been good-natured and more easily borne. And she wasn't unattractive. It was better than all the wet dreams caused by Sarah. Better than sleeping alone. Or, worse, the agony of sleeping when Sarah was there – so close but so ineffably far away. Those nights were the worst. Sneaking out to the shower quickly in the morning, so the stains on his shorts wouldn't be too obvious.

He guessed that Sarah knew. She missed almost nothing. But she never teased him about it. Never made him feel like less of a man. No, she always made him feel more like a man. Made him try to be the kind of man she would love – the kind of man she deserved. Not Charles Carmichael, but Chuck Bartowski – Chuck as the best he could be.

And now she loved him. She said it. She'd never said anything like that before. Yeah, she'd dropped hints she was interested. But they were often veiled. Full of two meanings. Meant for ears other than his. Tonight, though, tonight had been different. She'd spoken for him. To him. Just to him. And said words he'd dreamt of for a long time.

Getting rid of Jill had been easy. She left without complaint, save about her safety. There was nowhere to go to hide. But they could worry about Jill and Fulcrum and everything else tomorrow. Tonight, he was alive. As alive as he'd felt in over 6 years, since he'd been kicked out of Stanford. Maybe as alive as he'd ever felt. And if he died tomorrow, or later tonight, it wouldn't be in vain. It would be for something he believed in, believed in with all his heart.

He thought back to Beckman's face and his smile grew even wider. Controlling her had been so easy. It hadn't been a bluff. He knew a lot of ways to do himself in. He'd studied methods extensively a few years back. One time, Ellie had even had his stomach pumped. He hadn't actually taken the pills (they went down the sink), but he'd learned a lot by her reaction to the various medicines he'd dumped.

And life without Sarah – life without a Sarah who loved him and was willing to admit it and act on it – that life wasn't worth living. Life with Sarah, pretending to not be in love? Well, that was a semblance of life. Close enough – like playing a video game. He could continue that way.

But he didn't have to. Not anymore. She was close. So close. So very very close. Closer than when she'd slept in his bed. Maybe not physically, though that was changing as the seconds slipped away. Mere seconds and he would see her again. Mere seconds and they would be together. Really together.

The Nerd Herder skidded to a stop. Chuck leapt out, not caring if he got a ticket or towed. That was not important. He ran into the building, now hating every second he'd wasted on Jill, on Beckman, on Casey, on the drive, on anything but being with Sarah.

He raced to her door and paused. Was this real? Or was he set up for another disappointment? Another disappointment would be the last. He'd not survive another. Was life awaiting behind the door? Or death?

He knocked. It felt weird to actually knock on her door. She was normally so aware of his comings and goings. What was going on tonight? "Go away! I'm not leaving." Sarah's partially-crazed voice came back through the sturdy wood.

He called back. "I'm not going anywhere."

Suddenly the door wrenched open. Sarah was there – her blond hair in disarray, her eyes puffy and swollen, a Kleenex in her hand, and no make-up on her face. She'd never looked more beautiful.

"And neither are you." He added. "I just got you. I love you. I am not losing you again. I made Beckman see reason."

"Wha … how? Oh, never mind. You're here. I love you." Sarah's expression had brightened upon seeing him, he noticed. And it just grew brighter. And she said 'love' again. She really did love him. It wasn't a tease or a joke. It was real. Real love.

"I love you."

Then words became unnecessary. He stepped to meet her – met her lips with his. Met her questing tongue with his. No awkward bending over. No gawkiness or shyness. Just two lips and then two bodies colliding.

His eyes closed. Sights were a distraction he couldn't afford. He felt her fingers in his hair. His arms were wrapped around her, crushing him to her. He couldn't breathe. At the same moment, they both turned their heads slightly. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the smell of her. Breathing in the feel of her. Breathing in the feeling of being in love and being loved back.

And then his hands moved – caressing her, massaging her phenomenal body through her clothes. His right hand moved higher while his left hand moved lower. But they both continued to press her into himself. He couldn't feel close enough to her. Even the air between them was too much. Clothing was strictly unnecessary.

His right hand reached her left shoulder. Her arm was already moving, losing the cradle on his head, but letting him push the tight jacket backwards, down her arm. Oh, her arm. The feel of her skin against his hand. It was almost too much to take. He luxuriated down her arm, hurrying to get the jacket off but fighting a tendency to adhere at each point of skin-to-skin contact.

Finally, the jacket was off. Off one arm. It fell back, across his left hand to dangle uselessly. His hand, oh where his left hand was. He could feel her raise a leg and wrap it around him. Felt it through his hand and his side. Felt the muscles move, the body shift.

The jacket was off. His lips left the succulence of her mouth, left behind the taste of her. And tasted her again and again. Her cheek, her neck, her ears, her shoulder. Tasted her sweat, her soap. Tasted her. Licked, kissed, nibbled, tasted.

Sarah had let her head fall back and he could hear and feel her breathing. Felt each sharp intake of breath. Felt each shuddering exhalation. He kissed his way back up to her mouth, let her taste his passion.

While his tongue was dancing with hers, he felt her hands move, insistently, between them. Between them? She wasn't pushing him away, was she? But, no, when her hands got between them, she simply broke every button on his shirt, forcing it back and over his shoulders. He had to remove his hands from her momentarily. Just a moment but an eternity. An eternity too long.

When his hands returned to her, they both began searching for a zipper or a seam or anything, any place to get some leverage on her remaining clothes. The things keeping them still apart. Nothing would ever become between them again. He attacked the things keeping them apart now. A frenzy to remove all barriers.

He felt air moving across his legs. Apparently, he was falling behind in the undressing game, while Sarah had continued moving things forward. At last his questing fingers found the seam between top and bottom. Her fingers were grazing up his chest and back, pulling his undershirt up. He returned the favor, grasping gently, and moving his hands to her sides. Pulling upwards, they soon both had their arms above their heads. Their lips had had to part briefly but only for a moment. Then they were reconnected. And now so much more than lips connected them.

It took him a moment to realize how much contact he had with her. With so much of her. No bra – no slip – nothing. He'd often suspected as much, lingered over the thoughts of what that meant. And now he knew. He felt her skin pressing against his. Felt the tightness. Felt the warmth. Felt the heat.

They each quickly finished removing their own tops and Chuck's hands went exploring again. Her back was smooth, muscled, and nearly perfect. The skin under his fingers felt better than silk or satin. From shoulder to waist, he traced every pore, every curve, every bone, every muscle and his fingers even found a small scar.

Then her mouth was moving. He gasped for air, with the sudden release. Then her lips were trailing fire across him. He couldn't breathe normally. Her fingers on his back. Her lips across his chest, trailing lower, leaving behind enough heat that he felt he must surely be burned.

A low moan escaped his throat. He wanted her to stop – it felt too good. He wanted it to last forever but the delicious agony was almost more than he could stand. His hands were in her hair now. Her hair, like silvery strands of spun perfection – the way a spider web looks but doesn't feel.

He yielded to pressure and raised his right foot. Then his left. The flames had almost reached his feet. His body felt like the sun. Then the ministrations stopped. He gasped and dragged his chin back down, his eyes springing open, for a moment. And then more than a moment – seeing her for the first time. Seeing every part of her. Seeing all the tones her skin took. Noting that she was a natural blonde.

She was just standing back up. But standing up, dragging herself across him. Every part of her body touched every part of his. He felt, again, the hardness, the softness, the no-longer-restrained passion.

Electricity replaced fire. It arced from spot to spot, triggering reactions. Most of his nervous system felt shut down. There was no sound. There was no light. There was just the feel of her. The feel of her short-circuiting everything he thought he knew.

Cold. Why was one track up his leg cold? And wet? Then the sensation hit his nose. Musky. Tangy. The smell of her arousal. God, she was as ready for this as he was. How was that possible? But it was true. The thought sent him spiraling higher and higher. She wanted him. Him. Chuck. Sarah wanted him. And he wanted her. Needed her.

Then he felt her lips against his again, insistent, gentle, firm, forceful, promising, demanding, accepting, giving. He wanted nothing more than to kiss his way all the way down her body, stopping at certain spots. But he couldn't. The pressure, from a year of worship, from an exhilarating day, from anticipation on the drive over, it was all just too much.

His knees started to buckle. Sarah's did the same. Vertical became horizontal. Nothing separated them any more. Nothing. Firmness met inviting, wet warmth. Two voices gasped as one. The kiss lost cohesion. Hands were forgotten. Legs reached up and around. Need, passion, desire, love, ardor, obsessions all met in a growing crescendo beat. Various sounds escaped lips. Even breathing seemed optional and a pitiful distraction.

Then, a sudden peak. A stiffening shared by two bodies, twenty toes curling, mouths moaning – no longer trapped by the other. A gasp. Repeated shudders. Uneven breaths. A hint of sanity returning. A realization of what had just happened. Two shared smiles that provided light to the entire city.

His vision started to clear. He was one again, not two. His breathing was still ragged. And she was still there. It had been real. He savored the sight of her, the flush on her skin, the blonde hair cascaded around her, wet with sweat on her forehead, the feel of her skin still pressed against his. His questing eyes met hers, which were wild with abandon and love. Their eyes trapped each other – he started to drown in the infinite depth of her blue eyes. He'd fallen into that water before, but this time he could stay.

He could stay, that is, until the light in them changed and an impish delight appeared. He swam to the surface, pulled back into himself, what he could, and sought the source of her delight.

The melody of Sarah's voice tinkled across his eardrums. "Mmmm", she purred. Purred that he heard and felt and sent shivers cascading across his body. "That was wonderful. But for round two …" Round two? Round two?!? Sweet mother-of-pearl, yes. "Can we actually come into the room?" Chuck looked around. They were lying across the doorway to her room, clothes haphazardly scattered, broken buttons and necklace nearly invisible.

He couldn't stop a short, low laugh. So much for worrying about PDA. He eased off her, hating to lose the contact, but wanting to move inside. He pushed clothes into the room. And nearly died when she spoke again, tenderly, softly, through her smile. "Because, love, this was just the spring roll on the feast I have imagined."

_

* * *

At this time, I have no plans to write a Chapter 4. This is the end. Use your imagination beyond this point._


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